When Somebody Loved Me
by Darling Pretty
Summary: "It had been rainy the day Mary Poppins had kissed him. Rainy and cold." Oneshot.


**Okay, so it's literally 5:30 in the morning and I just finished this. I hope you like it!**

**I own nothing.**

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It had been rainy the day Mary Poppins had kissed him. Rainy and cold. She had bundled up in a wool coat and twined a bright blue scarf around her neck, that hat of hers perched atop her head. There was no need for heavier rain gear- she had her umbrella and that was enough. It wasn't as if the rain would dare muss her hair anyway. He'd been trying to make a few coins selling hot chestnuts but no one was buying. She had stopped and pressed a coin into his hand before reaching lightly for a bag, her eyes daring him to protest her payment. He sighed and pocketed the coin. From anyone else, he'd consider it an unacceptable charity but from Mary... well, from Mary it was different. Mary didn't hand him the coin with pity in her eyes. Mary just expected that she should have to pay for his wares, no matter what he was selling that day, be it hot chestnuts, kites, or just drawings on the sidewalks. She'd expect the same of everyone because that was the way her world worked, and that was why he could accept her money.

Wordlessly, she came to stand by him, munching happily on her snack, the bag wedged under her arm so she could hold her umbrella over their heads. He hadn't wanted to break the comfortable silence, so they stood their companionably, listening to the rain beat a soothing tattoo against the pavement. Mary's breath curled in front of her nose and mouth in lazy curls and she pressed a little closer to him. She was still far enough away enough that propriety wouldn't bat an eye, but she was certainly close enough for their elbows to brush.

She turned to him, Her cheeks were rosy, her lips a pleasant pink, and her eyes bright blue. The tip of her nose was beginning to get red and Bert wondered if she wasn't just a porcelain doll come to life. But when their eyes met and he didn't look away, her radiant smile and the subtle blush of her cheeks betrayed that idea and proved the reality of Mary Poppins.

He'd been in love with her for quite some time now. It hadn't been love at first sight. Of course, he thought she was lovely at first sight and had been infatuated with her. Nearly every man he knew had been infatuated with Mary Poppins at one point or another. But as they spent more time together, those first feelings had faded and disappeared, leaving behind something quite new and rather frightening in their midst. He wasn't infatuated with her any longer; he enjoyed her company, he adored her friendship, and he loved her. He'd always been a kind man to that point, generous and giving, but the selflessness of his love surprised even him. Out of nowhere, her happiness was all-consuming, his own happiness taking a backseat. She was the only thing that mattered and he knew that he would do anything to ensure her comfort and happiness. It was frightening, knowing that the object of his affections was none other than the Mary Poppins; there was never any telling what she was feeling, let alone whether she might return those affections. Still, he didn't push the matter. She'd come to it in her own time, he had faith. And if she didn't, well, he could handle that too, so long as he could stand by her side.

She blushed, ducking her head so she was looking at the pavement by his feet. He ducked with her, trying to make eye contact again. He was probably pressing his luck, but standing under her umbrella and brushing elbows with her, it felt as if the world had faded to just their little haven from the rain.

"Bert," she had all but whispered.

"Yes?" he responded, feeling his heart leap in his chest. He wouldn't be surprised if it had been doing acrobatics. He could see her eyes searching his face for an unasked question and hoped she could find whatever answer she was looking for.

"Have you ever done something, knowing that it's completely selfish?"

He thought about it for a moment. Had he? "Well, of course I 'ave. It's part of being an 'uman, don't you think, Mary Poppins?"

"Mary," she replied, "please call me Mary." She wasn't begging, Mary Poppins would never beg, but it was more than a request. There was something almost desperate in her eyes, though of course nothing in her demeanor betrayed it.

"Mary," repeated Bert. "But y' 'aven't answered me, Mary."

She shook her head. "I don't believe I ever have. At least not since I left childhood."

He had been shocked at that. Surely everyone was selfish once in awhile! But while he knew that Mary could be proud and rather vain, he also knew that she wasn't lying. For all her vanity, she was the most giving person he had ever met. While she sometimes might act cold and enjoy looking in a mirror, she behaved in a way that betrayed a warm and selfless side of her. "Well, Mary, I should applaud y' for that," he answered without a trace of sarcasm.

"Don't applaud me just yet. I'm afraid I'm about to break my streak."

"Oh?"

"Hold this, please." She placed her umbrella in his hand and he did as she asked; he always did. The bag of chestnuts was stored carefully in her pocket, leaving her hands free, though she began wringing them almost immediately. "Do forgive me," she requested before taking his face in her hands.

The softeness of her gloves was nothing compared to the softness of her lips. All he could think was that Mary Poppins was kissing him. But still he did his best not to get to caught up in the moment; he wouldn't want to lose control and frighten her, so he kept his hands on her umbrella and allowed her to guide the kiss. It was painfully soft and painfully quick. When she pulled away, he felt as if she took a small part of her soul with him and left him speechless.

"I'm sorry, Bert," she began to apologize almost immediately. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Mary," he said shakily, regaining his footing and his thoughts, "th' only reason y' shouldn't 'ave done that is if you didn't want to."

"I... did want to," she admitted haltingly. "I still do, I'm afraid."

That acrobatic heart of his was now pounding harder than he could ever remember. Could it be that maybe..."Mary," Bert said slowly. She looked up at him. "Would you- would you mind awfully if I were to..."

"Were to?" she repeated. He thought he might have imagined it, but he hoped he saw her eyes light up.

"If I were to kiss you again. Would you mind it?"

She thought for a moment. "No. In fact, I think I would rather enjoy it."

It was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed her again, this time allowing himself to lose himself in the wonder that was Mary Poppins' kiss.

They were all but inseparable whenever she was in London from then on. She sought him out before going to meet her charges and always stopped to say farewell on her way out of town. Whenever she took her charges on an outing, he was sure to pop up. And no matter what, they'd manage to steal away for a few moments. He lived for those moments; every moment he wasn't with her was an eternity, every moment he was with her was never long enough, but it didn't matter as long as she was there.

He fell into a routine. Every morning, before doing anything else, he would rush to the window, lick his finger and stick his hand outside to check the wind, praying for the East Wind. When she was in town, it meant another day with her. When she was gone, it meant that she was coming back to him. The East Wind meant he could take his time dressing, whistling happily as he did so, and put on a pot of coffee. He'd make breakfast and enjoy his coffee before rushing off to meet Mary wherever she might be that day.

When she was in town, he prayed every morning that he wouldn't stick his hand out only to find the West Wind blowing. A West Wind meant that he would grimly get dressed and make tea. Usually by the time the kettle was ready, there'd be a knock on his door and he'd open it to Mary with a sad gleam in her eyes that would confirm what the wind had already told him. He'd let her in without a word and they'd sit across his rickety wooden table in silence. Nothing needed to be said. She hated sentimentality, but would allow him to kiss her once before she left.  
She was constantly in his thoughts; on more than one occasion, he had nearly gotten into some trouble due to his preoccupation. But he didn't mind. Mary Poppins loved him and that was more than enough.

They never said it, of course. He knew her like the back of his hand. In fact, he knew her like the back of her own hand, since he probably knew her hand better than his. She couldn't say that she loved him. He accepted that as the truth of Mary Poppins and it didn't bother him. He could tell, he could see, from the way she looked at him, from the way her hand would bump against his when they were walking, from the gentle teasing she'd subject him to, from the way her kisses had thawed from that chaste first kiss that she loved him. And that knowledge was enough for him.

For almost two years, that was enough. He didn't mind waiting for her, he didn't mind the stolen moments, he didn't mind the leaving. He didn't mind any of it. She was more than enough for him. He didn't need words and explanations. He knew her.

Knew her, in the past. Because now...

Now she stands across from him, statuesque and cold as the day he first saw her and just as mysterious. "Y' want... y' want what?" he stammers, trying to fit this new piece of the puzzle into the way he views his world.

"I'm afraid it just isn't working," she replies. "I simply can't see to my responsibilities and make this- make us- work. I do apologize for wasting your time."

"My... my time?" he wants to know. "You think y' wasted m' time?"

"Bert, please don't make this more unpleasant than it need be."

"Was it- did I do somethin', Mary? Can I fix it? Mary, please don't-"

"Bert, it's nothing you did. Please, you must let me go."

"'s what I always do, isn't it?" He steps aside. He's never once tried to stand in her way and today won't be the first time.

"Thank you," she replies curtly and opens her umbrella.

He has to know just one last thing before she leaves. "Wait." She freezes. "Did any of this, did it mean anythin' t' you? I only ask because it meant everything t' me."

Mary Poppins doesn't turn around and her words are muffled but he can understand her words all the same. "More than you will ever know."

She's gone before he can ask anything else. He goes back inside and makes tea.

The next few months, he's adrift without her. His sweep friends are careful to never mention her around him, but every once in awhile someone slips and Bert's carefully calculated demeanor slips. The ache that might have dulled given time becomes razor sharp again.

He runs their last few encounters over and over through his mind, looking for any clue or hint and finding nothing to explain her sudden change of heart. She haunts his dreams; there are mornings he wakes up and swears that he had felt her in his arms just a moment before.

And though he wants her back more fervently than he's ever wanted anything, he doesn't search for her. She had clearly wanted to leave him in the past and he struggles gamely on to try and do the same. But, oh, that's not easy. It's a long, arduous process and he misses her every day. He had thought that missing her while she was gone was the worst pain he'd ever feel. He was wrong. Missing her when there is no chance of seeing her again, that is truly painful.

Still, he never becomes bitter. He treasures their time together; any time with Mary Poppins is a gift. Slowly the ache dulls a bit, but by the time it does, he's become fairly solitary, prefering the company of his thoughts than that of anyone else. How could anyone hope to compare to Mary Poppins? He stops drawing. What's the point when Mary Poppins can't jump them into the picture?  
The other sweeps claim to miss him and constantly make efforts to include him. But he can't be bothered. He takes long, wandering walks through London instead, sometimes retracing the paths he and Mary Poppins wandered, other times avoiding those very same places like the plague.

It's a rainy day in March when he decides to walk to the park and the grove of trees that had once been a retreat from prying eyes. It had been Mary's favorite place to walk and if it were deserted, she twine her fingers through his and rest her head on his shoulder. He would kiss the top of her head and they'd keep walking.

His breath catches when he gets to the grove. There's only one other person, a familiar figure dressed in a familiar red coat and carrying a familiar umbrella. Without thinking, he calls out her name. "Mary!"

She jumps and whirls around. Her eyes widen and she looks a bit panicked. She'll have to run right by him if she wants to leave. Quickly she composes herself, regain that veneer of perfection that only Mary Poppins can achieve. "Bert. Hello."

It's been a year and the only thing she has to say to him is hello. "Could we... Might we..."

Mary sighs. "I suppose." Even now she can tell the meaning behind his stammerings. She always could. There is a small bench not far from where they're standing so they sit there. "I suppose you have a few questions."

"Mary... how... how could you? Why?"

"Oh, Bert." The way she says his name, exhaling, lilting over the syllable reminds him of the many, many times throughout their relationship that he had said something that had touched on a topic she thought inappropriate for discussion. "I had to."

"You 'ad to?"

"How have you been?" she asks instead of answering. He knows it's a defense mechanism, but he doesn't want to push her and so he allows her to shift the topic of conversation.

"Oh, fine. Fine. Just fine," he answers. "Still workin' an' all of that."

"That's wonderful! Have you drawn anything lately?" She always did love to watch him draw.

He scratches at the back of his neck. "Nah... I sort of... gave that up, right around th' time... well, you know."

"Oh." For once, it seems like Mary Poppins is at a loss for words.

"Mary, I've just got t' know somethin', an' then I promise that I'll leave y' alone forever if that's what you want. Just... I've gotta know."

She looks reticent, but nods. "I suppose that's fair."

He thinks about taking her hand but doesn't. That would be pressing his advantage. Well, that is, if he has an advantage to press. "Did... did any of it... did it mean anythin' t' you, Mary? Because I keep goin' over that day an' I can't understand. I thought we were happy."

Her breath is shaky when she inhales. "We were."

"Then why-"

"I told you, Bert. It was too difficult. I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I want t' understand! I want ya t' explain t' me 'ow we could go from bein' 'appy as can be to this. Because I don't know about you, Mary, but without you, I'm miserable."

"Oh, don't say that," she pleads, her eyes downcast.  
"It's th' truth. If ya don't want t' be with me, that's fine, but don't tell me 'ow I feel. Did it mean anythin' t' you?"

"It meant something! Of course it meant something! It meant _everything_!"

"I loved you, Mary," he admits quietly.

She looks up then, and he sees that he's somehow managed to hurt her. "Loved?"

He nods stiffly. "I know we never said it. An' maybe I should 'ave, but I thought y' wouldn't want me to, so I didn't say anythin'. But I guess I'm sayin' it now, so I guess it doesn't matter."

She wrings her hands nervously, like she did the first time she kissed him. "I loved you," Mary whispers. "In fact, I still do."

Bert is dumbstruck. She... still loves him? "But then why?"

"It's complicated."

"No it isn't!" he finally yells. He's tired of her cryptic non-answers. If she doesn't want him, that's fine but she could at least have the decency to explain it to him. "An' if it is, make it simpler! I deserve better'n this, Mary. I loved you an' I thought we 'ad a future before, but if you didn't, just say so!"

"That's the problem!" she yells back. "I _could_ see a future with you, and a dog, and children, and a perfectly _wretched_ tire swing in the front yard! That isn't me, Bert. It never has been. I've never wanted any of those things before. I still don't."

"Did I ever _once_ ask you for any of that, Mary?"

"No, of course not. But you made _me_ want them, if only momentarily." She sighs. "I knew I couldn't marry you. Something would muck it up. Something _always_ mucks it up. I'm who they call to clean up messes. Who would come to clean up mine? I figured a clean break was best."

"I miss you, Mary," he says.

"I know."

"So you don't think there's any chance?"

"No, I don't."

He nods. "Thank you for explaining." Slowly he gets up and starts to walk away. He only gets about halfway out of the grove.

"Bert!"

He turns around and she barrels into his arms, kissing him fervently. He wraps his arms around her and for one moment, everything feels perfect.

Then she pulls away. Tears glisten in her eyes and he knows that nothing is perfect. "G'bye, Mary," he says.

She squeezes his hand and he thinks she might actually start crying. "I'll always love you, Bert."

He squeezes back and kisses her cheek. "You're the love of me life, Mary Poppins. Just wish I could 'ave shared me 'ole life with you."

He walks away before she can say anything else.


End file.
